Interlude (30)

A good place here, having just talked about a trip to Turkey, to bring in a poem that mentions Rumi and which rightfully belongs to this ordinary story made up of moving parts. Clearly, reading his work left a strong impression that crept into my poetry. There’s a micropoem from April 2015 that reads:
Rumi on the bookshelf
with the Gita and Cohen –
more than one way home

But the poem that will become Part 38.1 is from April 2017, written two years later. The poem was originally posted here.

Gasping Sun

I want to argue for
the incomplete,
the fraction where that defiant part
teeters over the buried whole,
see, absolute love is an awkward metaphor for faith,
leave the unconditional to the tremble
in Rumi’s song,
to the unsmiling gods that demand submission,
what I have is just a little adoration,
a ninth day moon,
a torn-off corner of sky,
and this half empty glass of wine,
still enough to drown the entire sun,
maybe we can negotiate,
a line or two of this verse is yours
if you can find its eyes meeting yours,
like mirror shards,
enough for a glance, enough for a lifetime,
enough for a song,
drink deep then,
a smear of night, a taste of love,
a broken poem
and the warmth of a gasping sun,
see how a bit of sky seduces
all your earth.

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